Carved Future
by JonasGrant
Summary: A group of humans gifted with abilities rivalling even the mighty Adeptus Astarts, calling themselves 'Ferals', emerge within the galaxy, and they are very hungry. Just wrote it to get the thing off my mind and because I think Far Cry gets way too little love.
1. Introduction

The Tau Fire warrior shook like a leaf despite biting back at his fear as hard as he could. He had four of his comrades at his back, yet his body reacted with such fear at the human before him that he would just as soon run away screaming.

The man wore no armor and was apparently unarmed, but his eyes appeared to glow slightly under the moonlight and he seemed completely unfazed by the five Tau aiming plasma weapons at him.

The Tau had landed almost a week prior and any scouting party the main force tried to send out was wiped out within a single night, no distress calls, no signs of them anywhere, they just vanished in the jungle, maybe this was part of the reason why the Warrior was so nervous, deadly creatures obviously roamed through this jungle world, but the man simply walked around in khaki shorts and t-shirt.

he was well fed. Since orbital observers reported no signs of any artificial structures anywhere on the planet, one had to wonder where that man had crawled out of.

"Stay where you are, friend, we will not hurt you..."

The man's face brightened with a tiny smile and every Tau in the cramped clearing held back an urge to squeeze the trigger right away.

"That'd be the day!" The man scoffed.

There was five meters between the squad and the human, far enough for anyone with average reflexes to take down the target, should the need arise, so it came as a bit of a surprise when the harmless loner broke right through their formation, dragging a Fire warrior into the jungle as if he weighted nothing. No screams were heard, no gunshots, just a loud crack and the whole jungle went silent.

The warriors called their friends name in confusion, washing the whole clearing with their flashlights. They had served together for months, he could not have just died, not like this! Then, they spotted two yellow dots amongst the bushes, shining in their helmet lights like cats' eyes in headlights.

It might have been anything, but every Tau present could swear they heard a low, feral growl.

A Tau broke away and ran in the opposite direction, despite the pleas of his friends. Fear made stupid, stupid made dead. And it came fast again, a blur of white and Khaki, falling right in front of the deserter. From where they stood, the other Tau saw only the warrior's helmet and backpack stop, as if reconsidering his decision. Then, the helmet took off, vertically, soaring past the canopy and out of sight while the backpack remained motionless.

His companions called the scared warriors, inciting him to come back before it was too late. The team leader actually about to go get the kid, when the helmet fell back in the jungle with a dull thud, ten steps to the left of the group.

While the officer advanced carefully, one of the remaining two warriors went over to pick up the discarded piece of armor, moved by some morbid conviction that he would find a severed head inside. There were none, but as he looked up, he did spot two yellow orbs burning in past the ferns, two step ahead.

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The voice was young, strong and charismatic, nothing like the assembly had expected.

"You know, there are many odd things amongst the Imperium that would make the Emperor go "Dude…" Psykers are behind many of these mysteries, secret societies are even more commonly involved, but secrets such as the Ferals, spanning a whole planet, involving billions of human being and effectively kept a secret by a group of men dead since two decades after the first human colony… Well, they're rare.

We know about the Imperium from what the occasional trader and refugee will tell us, but they know nothing about us. That's why you are here.

Who are the Ferals? Isn't that the question you're all burning to ask? Well, we are the most primitive human beings in the world, as opposed to mutants, we are underneath the Homo Sapiens Sapiens in the evolutionary process, but that's not actually a weakness. We are an evolutionary dead end, granted, but so is the great white shark.

See, normal humans are weak, a chimp has the same muscle structure as we do and identical mass, but is five times stronger than the average man. That's as strong as an unarmoured Adeptus Astarte. Why? More power to the muscles, less to the brain. The Sapiens evolved that way and it's a sound solution, saves power and allows greater survival rates, Ferals found another solution; full predation.

We evolved to be purely predatory and must eat twice as much as the average man, but we gained full access to our body's potential, we can track by smell, see in the dark, lift five times our own weight -and that's as strong as an armored Astarte- and heal from any non-fatal injury within hours, if not minutes. This makes us fiercely territorial and pack based, thank to our massive nutritional needs, but we are still intelligent beings, we can control ourselves, although it has caused our species to become virtually extinct, until a scientist developed a gene therapy to recover Feral traits in average Homo sapiens. We are the descendants of these newly created Ferals, banned on an jungle world and kept away from the regular humans to one day serve as the protectors of humanity. Things didn't go as planned, we multiplied, as intended and now, we are out of food, which is why, ladies and gentlemen inquisitors, we made our presence known to you. Our warriors will beat anything you pit them against, so long as you keep us supplied..."

"Stop recording." An aging man ordered, turning to a slightly younger woman, sitting on the opposite side of the table. "Basically, what they are saying is 'We will fight for food.' Am I right?"

She nodded, a grin tugging at her mouth.

"Then why are we even viewing this transmission? We read the reports, saw the files they sent us, this… Man is telling us the truth, is he not?"

Everyone in the room agreed.

"Then there is no use debating this any longer, send an order to the administorum, tell them we need to outfit a new guard regiment and find me a suitable testing ground. Dismissed!"


	2. Meet the Pack

**AN: I tried to find detailed scientific explaination for Jack's powers, but found none, Far Cry Instincts really isn't loved by geeks like me :( so, here's my explanation:**

**Strength/Speed: As mentioned in the game, adrenaline would play a large part in making the Ferals so powerful, but stronger bones and muscles would be required in order to punch through a two inches steel door without getting even a scratch, so, as you can read already, I added my own explaination to both why many test subjects went nuts (Didn't have 'Feral' genetic markers, so their brains stopped getting nurishment and atrophied) and Jack didn't (He had the markers).**

**Vision: Concept is the same as any animal with night vision, just look it up...**

**Regeneration: Their body produces clusters of non-differentiated cells, similar to those found on the Planarian worm, or salamanders, or whatever animal that grows back lost limb, look up the regenerating mice too, they can grow back damaged vital organs o_O  
**

**Smell: Now that's a tricky one. You can't increase a human's smell without changing their appearance, but you can improve the way the brain recognizes those smell, so they don't detect more particles than average humans do, but are able to interpret and classify them a lot better and effectively track a prey.**

**Attack: WTH is that? Why this crooked finger bitchslap and not just a punch? Answer: Ferals have additional ligaments and keratin encrustation in their nails, fingers and wrist bones, allowing them to lock their fingers and turn them into claws. It takes industrial tools to allow them to cut off their nails and many Ferals enjoy cutting them in a slight V shape. **

**Finally, individual evolution, something we see Jack undergo in the Instincts series as he becomes tougher, faster and stronger, not only through controlling his powers, but, as the title said, through evolution, although adaptation is more scientifically accurate. Basically, the Ferals will adapt to anything as individuals but won't pass down these traits to their offsprings, theynever evolve as a species because of their extreme regenerative abilities, long life span and great adaptability, a Feral shot with a lasgun will be as badly wounded as any human at first, but once he's healed and you come back later to shoot him again, his new wound will not be half as bad as the first. He might become very tan as a result or grow an odd scaly epidermis, but his body will find a counter and make it happen within weeks,iIf a Feral breaks his bones falling from a 30 meters cliff, it will take a 40 meters cliff to break them again and if they are thrown naked on an iceberg, they will grow very, very hairy. This part is important to the plot, remember it! :P**

Ferals have no real army, no established chain of command, but whatever it is we have, I know I'm at the bottom of it. Suits me just fine though, we are not humans, our drive to conquer and dominate is far less pronounced, this is why the old humans wanted to make an army with us and why we remained hidden for so long. Survival of our species is sufficient, we don't need social recognition or material compensation. It's like a dog, it'll be perfectly happy to be at the bottom of the pack's pecking order, as long as there is food left for it and its role is well established.

My role is perfectly established, I am a hunter, like every single member of my species, granted, but it goes beyond that. You see, we have many castes; Alphas, our leaders and usually our most powerful members, Warriors, specialists in firearms and squad tactics, Healers, specialists of the Feral man's organism, Shepherds, in charge of raising animals and keeping the population at acceptable levels, Hunters, the most feral yet least 'intelligent' of us, Caretakers, our children's protectors and handpicked amongst our deadliest warriors, Shamans, our spiritual guides and scientists , and, finally, the Omegas, the least feral of us, gifted with better focus, greater learning capacities and a smaller appetite, which makes them ideal for every task, from piloting to cooking and knitting. Humans are born equal, we are not, every man is unique and being a Feral increases those singularities ten fold.

I know I am not the brightest tool in the shed, mostly just a tool and asking for directions to the shed, but that is not caused by lack of knowledge or reasoning faculties, my brain simply gets less nutrients and my body has more, this manifests itself as a pretty severe form of ADD and a slight learning disorder.

That's why Hunters cannot make it as Warriors, we can't focus for long and have trouble picking up complex skills.

Although that does not mean we don't take part in battles, we are simply not officers and usually take orders from Warriors when on the offense and Caretakers when on defense, so that pretty much makes us the Ferals' foot infantry.

Right now, we are about thirty, assembled in the imperial frigate's cargo hold, standing around the crates of material the Alphas issued to us.

We are headed for a dissident human world, five thousands of us spread out across the ship and all getting geared up for our first operation under the Imperium. Our bay is dark, filled with crates of food and ammunition, leaving only a twenty meters wide circle in the middle of the vast room for us to get geared up.

I spot six warriors in the group, their eyes glow a dimmer yellow and they are already carrying laser rifles, the rest of us are Hunters, Omegas, Shamans or Healers, everything you need to build a reliable task force, we just need an Alpha, but I guess he'll show up later.

I walk up to the first crate and see others approach the five additional boxes, as if we all had the same idea at the same moment. We all tear off the metal ribbons sealing the crates, as if they were made of paper, and kick the lids off to reveal explosives, Autoguns, Mesh armors, frag grenades and Autogun magazines. I got the ammunition crate and can already tell we are not getting any laser guns today.

Guess the Imperium is still scrounging around for our stuff. Doesn't matter, we will make due with what we have.

Slowly, one at a time, our comrades come to us and we give them their gear.

Autoguns don't all use the same ammo and I must check the side of every gun to see who gets what.

Scipio gets the tiny sticks, Armageddon gets the fat cubes, Kalashnikovs get the slim hooks, Bushwalkers get the transparent plastic clips and so on for thirty soldiers. I end up with a Murkovit MP-48, the bastard child of the Scipio and the bolter, chambered in heavy pistol ammunition.

The Mesh armors look more like sleeveless vests with pockets, or carriers, than armor, but I know for a fact they can stop small caliber rounds and slow down bigger ones enough for me to survive the hit, so I don't make a fuss about its brownish color clashing with my pearl white shirt.

The pockets prove pretty useful and I stuff them all with frags, dynamite and ammunition, same for the pockets of my cargo pants. Everyone does the same and we soon empty every crates but the armor and gun ones.

The men and women now look like some rag tag militia with a very bad liver, so do I, really.

I sling the MP-48 to my left shoulder and turn to the warriors, as they are most likely about to start the briefing.

We are only a few hours from the planet, so now would be a good time.

A tall female with long brown hairs and tattoos all over her forearms walks over to a bright orange container and use a pen knife to carve a square on the smooth steel surface.

"The target goes seventy levels underground and has highways up to an altitude of one point five kilometers." He voice booms through the room like drums in a cave while she draws what must be over a hundred lines within the square, "The skyways snake around buildings and cross each others in places," she draws an oblique line going from the top of the square to the line underneath, "We will use this to navigate the upper levels, hop from one lane to another and keep them from bottling us in." She carves a botched zig-zag doing up and down until it reaches about thirty lines down.

Another Warrior steps forward, a bulky graying man with arms the size of my legs. His voice rings like a gunshot in the vast room. "Then, the real fun begins." He bangs his fist on the seventy remaining lines and dents the container in the process. "Once the upper sections are clear, we will cut all power to the lower levels and get in through fans and sewers while our new tanks draw their attention to the main tunnels."

All in all, we'll just sneak in and kill them all in their sleep. I like this plan.

"What about civilians?" A young Omega asks, somewhere to my right. I can tell he's an Omega just by the way he sounds.

A third Warrior, another woman, although with short black hairs and no tattoos, explains that we can kill whoever we want, the Imperium doesn't care, but that it would be considerate not to kill people we sense are not a threat.

Beyond that, it's really all publicity; use your feral powers as much as possible, never get pinned down for too long, stick close to the servo-skulls deployed by the inquisition to record the operation, use the environment as much as you can and try not to get killed.

I jump at the explosion and almost dive for cover, but it's just the ship Vox system.

"All units, report to the shuttles immediately," The captain orders, his pompous voice enough to make me want to bust in the bridge and crush his skull, "I repeat, all units to the shuttles."

It's not something he said, it's how he says it, with that aristocratic accent and the intonation people get when they have power they didn't earn.

Still, the pack leaves the bay, taking all its time, checking their weapons, trading discreet jokes or checking on each others, and I follow, meeting up with Kay on the way out.

You think animal, feral humans, and you most likely see monkeys, noisy, brutish and unsophisticated, but Ferals aren't chimps, we are much closer, behavior-wise, to wolves or lions, we prefer silence and darkness, we move slowly and carefully, we're predators and we act like it.

"Hey, Gas," she greets, nodding, "you ever fought in an urban environment?" She's not worried, I only smell anger coming from her, probably at the captain. Truth is, I doubt any of us ever operated in a city; we live in caves, underground bunkers and three houses, no city, that's what allowed us to root out the weak and maintain adequate food supplies.

"No, but don't you worry, sister," I reassure, squeezing her slender shoulder, "we will show those ape who's on top of the food chain, on concrete, on dirt or underwater."

She bats my hand away and smile, a Scipio autopistol in the other hand, "Of course we will, I just want to know if you can keep up."

Brat.

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"Come on, Gas! Keep up!" Kay yells, hopping down the skyway and landing a good ten meters lower on a perpendicular street. Ignoring the burn in my legs, I push my fat ass off the floor as hard as I can and soar over the two meters chain-link fence. I love jumping like this, don't get me wrong, the fall is just glorious, but my blasted legs are on fire and my lungs are about to overheat!

We're poursuit predators, alright, but that's just bloody ridiculous!

Just as I slam on the concrete, the Vulture gunship crosses the overpass I just left, soaring fourteen meters above. It stops, spins and resumes peppering us, spitting bolts of red death all over the asphalt. Kay's already ducking behind a crashed shuttle, under the overpass, imbedded in the railing and with the cockpit hanging in midair. There's a hundred meters of open road on either side, making that shuttle the only cover available. I'm not picky.

The leap is a little short and I crash on the shuttle's right wing, but quickly slide down to cover.

Already sitting in a puddle of mud, Kay's weighting our tactical options and doesn't seem to like our situation.

"Why don't we have air support?" She pouts, starring at her pistol like it's the thing's fault.

I sigh and peek around the shuttle's tail. The Vulture is gone, probably over the pass to shoot us from the other side.

The shuttle is an Aquilla model, with nose mounted Heavy Bolter, but the nose is hanging off the skyway and we're a kilometer above ground. The closest bridge when I look down must be two hundred meters away, a heck of a fall for just about anything that bleeds.

I'm brave and a little insane, but not suicidal. Instead, I rip open the rear access panel and spot the emergency fuel tank, a white plastic gizmo the size of my head.

Many pipes and wires are in the way, lots of things that can spark if brutalized. Sparks are not fun when four liters of high-efficiency, military grade fuel are involved. No time, the vulture is about to shoot me in the ass; I rip all that shit out and pull the fuel tank out with me, spilling some of the stuff on the wrecks and myself. Let's not go Shish Kebab now…

Kay already has her gun ready when I haul the tank through the twenty meters between us and the opposite side of the overpass.

The vulture lowers itself right in the path of the tank and the pilot, eager to score a kill, I suppose, opens fire. Lasers fly all over the tunnel for about two seconds. Turns out, Kay doesn't have to fire a single shot, the pilot did all the job himself and we soon watch the burning fuel seep in every air duct and every cracks of the gunship, effectively cooking the pilot alive before detonating the missile reserves.

No fireballs, no fireworks, just bang and pieces of junk flying everywhere.

Kay and I take a minute to catch our breath, her leaning on the crashed Lander, me bent over, hands on my knees, panting like a wounded seal.

We have no communication equipment, although we'd like to, so we can't ask anyone what we should do. I can smell thousands of small Feral teams navigating through the skyway and buildings, but none of them smells like an Alpha, that means I get to decide what the next step will be.

They said we should secure the upper levels before we move down and I can smell a large pocket of hivers two hundred meters below with minor blockades along the way. Most of these blockades we could avoid, but we can also easily take them out, so that's what we'll do.

We jump over the lander and sprint the hundred meters between it and the nearest ramp going down. Thirty meters under that ramp is the top of a cathedral-like building sloping down fifty meters and running parallel to another blasted aerial street.

Thirty meters is more than anything I've ever tried, but I might as well give it a try.

We hop over the railing and, to me at least, the cathedral seems very far away.

So, maybe this was a bad idea…

We crash on the clay tiles covering the roof and immediately begin sliding down and ripping two trails in the thing. I dig my fingers in and slow down enough that I don't think I'll tear a hole in the concrete upon landing. Kay, however, just goes down full speed and jump just before reaching the edge of the roof.

I'm not even halfway down and, apparently, there's a fifty meters gap between the road and the edge, so: full speed ahead!

Next thing I know, I'm embedded backward in a small blue car and there's a hive ganger poking me with a broomstick.

Seriously?

Two of his pals are hanging eight steps back, guns aimed at me.

I love it when they hang together in a tight cluster…

My eyes are still closed, so they can't tell I'm aware, stick guy pokes me in the face and I snatch the wooden handle from him before shoving it through his abdomen.

The others open fire with their autoguns, but I'm moving, pushing myself in a backward wheel to get behind the car.

Well, actually, its passenger side, but it's the part that was behind me.

Now, it goes me, the car, the hivers and the steel railing in a straight line. If you had the strength to kick cars off their wheels and were in my situation, what would you do? Yeah.

My boot slams on the passenger side and sends the car tumbling forward to crash into the railing, but not before crushing one of the hivers.

I smell the other's fear as she crawls away, trying the grab the pistol she taped to her thigh.

She crawls fast and makes it about two meters before getting grabbed by the throat and lifted off the floor.

I hold her at arms length and stare right into her eyes. First time I get to see a human up close. They are weak, soft; her muscles seem made out of jelly and her eyes are empty, faded, grayish and widened by fear.

"Please don't hurt me!"

Who does she think I am?

"Don't be afraid of me," I speak, softly, "I'd never hit a girl!" And, with that, I toss her over the railing. She doesn't scream on the way down and her fear dissipates, replaced by serenity.

Serenity? Wait, I must talk to that girl… But she's dead before I can even realize I regret killing her. It's no crush or remorse, but curiosity. She went from piss scared to 'Oh well' in a split second. That does not make sense, it's like her survival instinct just short circuited, like she accepted death.

We Ferals don't accept death, our organism has negligible senescence, a trait I believe was developed at the same time as our extreme healing abilities. This means our cells never age. We rarely ever fall sick, both because of our strong immune system and genetic selection, have no natural predators and have not started a war in over thirty thousand years. We are not good around death, believe it or not, and try to kill as little as we can, although that does not mean we avoid danger, we are apex predators, kill or be kill is our niche and we would psychically die if we ever gave up that aspect.

Literally, not enough adrenal secretion, too much built up stress, not enough food or too much of those can drive us to a psychotic rampaging state.

That's precisely what kept our population in check for all that time, but we breed like rabbits and won't just die, which is why I'm here now.

Let's get to work.


End file.
